


Come Home.

by RedStarFiction



Series: If... [3]
Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Fuck You Shameless, Gen, Ian Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich Friendship, M/M, Mickey and Ian to the rescue, Mickey and Mandy all the feels, Protective Ian Gallagher, Protective Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 18:26:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13277301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: What if ... Ian and Mickey had brought Mandy home? What else might have changed?I always thought it was totally OOC that Mickey and the Milkovich brothers just let Kenyatta abuse Mandy the way he did. This fic is a bit of a fix for that in S.5.





	Come Home.

“Listen to it!”

“I did! It’s …”

“He’s gonna fucking kill her, Mickey!”

“Look, I know you want …”

“What I want is to bring my friend - your sister - home!”

Ian pauses his pacing to glare at Mickey and point the cell phone at him like a weapon.

“How can you just ignore this?”

“Cause she didn’t mean to call you, Ian. She doesn’t want us fuckin’ nosing through her life.”

“I don’t give a fuck what she wants! If we don’t help her we’re no better than he is!”

Ian fumes as Mickey pushes a hand tersely through his hair and looks up at his boyfriend with large, uncertain eyes. He doesn’t disagree with what Ian is saying, but Mandy made her choice and in his family they don’t interfere with each other. They’re not like the Gallaghers, they don’t crowd each other. If Mandy wanted them involved she would fucking ask but Ian doesn’t seem to get that at all. Kenyatta took Mandy’s phone and the idiot managed to call Ian and leave a voicemail recording of their fight. Yeah it was grim, it made Mickey’s blood boil to think of that son of a bitch hurting Mandy but she made her choice! They all told her not to fuckin’ go and Mickey doesn’t know what more Ian wants from him.

“Just … calm down …”

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down!”

Ian throws his cell phone onto the cluttered sofa, instantly losing it amongst Yevgeny’s baby clothes that are strewn across the worn cushions. Folding his arms and slamming his back against the wall, Ian shakes his head and closes his eyes, trying to get a grip on his temper and failing.

“That voicemail was fucking horrible Mickey! The names he called her? The things he said? And Mandy! Did you hear her crying? Did you?”

“Yeah. I heard.”

Mickey says softly, averting his gaze and pinching his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, tugging it before twisting his hand and rubbing his index finger roughly along the edge of his mouth.

“So?”

Ian demands, pushing himself upright and towering over his boyfriend, deliberately close, forcing Mickey to look up more than usual. Predictably, Mickey cranes his neck rather than stepping back out of Ian’s way. He is getting better at being open with feelings and shit like that, but years of conditioning won’t let him back down from a confrontation, even with Ian, and his fists curl loosely at his sides mechanically.

“Are you gonna help me or not?”

Ian is close enough that Mickey can feel the heat pouring off of his body. In other circumstances Mickey would be rock hard and ready to go a few rounds in the bedroom with Ian all riled up like this. Maybe they’d slap each other around a little bit first, nothing too brutal but they would get a little sore, a little bruised and it would lead to some seriously amazing sex… but Mickey is pretty sure fucking isn’t on the cards right now so he pushes it from his mind and tries to focus on making Ian see reason.

“I don’t know where the fuck Mandy even is! She won’t talk to me, she won’t talk to you … She don’t want our help! What are you gonna do? Huh? Knock down every door in Indiana til you find her?”

“If I have to.”

“Okay well that’s just fuckin’ dumb so sit your ass down a minute and let’s get a plan together.”

Mickey wrenches a crumpled packet of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket, takes one and then flips the carton over to Ian. He inhales the thick smoke, grateful for the familiar buzz of nicotine and then exhales through his nostrils, watching Ian do the same.

Swears under his breath, Mickey licks his lip, considering his options. Short of tying Ian to the bed and refusing to let him leave, Mickey isn’t going to be able to stop him. He’s gone all jutting chin and lowered ginger eyebrows and whilst Fiona might say it’s the bipolar, Mickey is pretty sure it’s just Ian’s pig-headed nature.

“Ay, alright I’ll call her from a burner. She might pick up if it’s not you or me callin’. Okay?”

Ian nods at this but his shoulders round defensively and he stubs the half-finished cigarette out viciously in the dregs of his coffee.

“Why won’t she just talk to us?”

Mickey snorts in response, already turning to rifle through his ‘stuff’ draw to find a fresh burner.

“Cause she’s a bitch and she’s a Milkovich. We ain’t the chattiest people when it comes to our problems.”

Ian’s lip quirks upwards at that, his eyes lightening just a fraction now that Mickey is helping him.

“Yeah well I did notice something like that.”

“Observent fucker, huh?”

Mickey finds what he’s looking for and flips the plastic casing off, inserting the disposable sim into the back of the cheap cell.

“Right, what’s the number?”

Ian digs around in the mess of baby stuff before coming up with his phone and reading the digits out to Mickey who thumbs them in and then lifts the phone to his ear.

“Ringing …”

He says curtly, answering Ian’s impatient expression and holding up the last half-inch of his smoke in a stilling gesture.

“Mandy? It’s me. … your fuckin’ brother? … Mickey, bitch! … No … No … fuck you! … He’s fine … he’s fine too … Yeah…”

Ian is practically crawling out of his skin with exasperation as the phone call progresses and begins miming frantically for Mickey to both hurry up and to give him the phone, which earns him a middle finger salute as Mickey turns his back on him.

“Where are you? … cause I want to know … to send a fuckin’ care package, what does it matter? … Oh I’m the asshole? You don’t answer my calls for weeks and … how is this typical of me? … Oh well excuse me for giving a shit … yes I do! … yes I do or I wouldn’t fuckin’ call … don’t bring that up … it wasn’t your fuckin’ flick-knife it was Iggy’s and Dad said I could …”

Ian can’t take any more of the sibling bickering and lunges forward snatching the phone out of Mickey’s hand

“Mandy? It’s Ian. Where are you? … Because I’m worried Mands… I know you are but please tell me… okay … yeah … I won’t, I promise. I love you. Bye.”

Ian flips the burner closed and nods to Mickey curtly

“I got the address.”

“Why the fuck did she give it to you and not me?”

Mickey asks looking truly affronted, taking the burner from Ian and tossing it back in the drawer alongside a collection of communal weapons and small baggies of powders and pills that Svetlana doesn’t let him leave around the house any more.

“I promised I wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

Ian smirks at Mickey who tongues his cheek and raises his eyebrows in response

“So we ain’t goin?”

“Of course we are. The stupid thing was letting her go in the first place.”

Ian states firmly, breezing past Mickey and heading into the bedroom to change out of his tight jeans and into something he can actually move in. Mickey follows him, rolling his eyes.

“Okay tough guy, you got the address, now what? We just rock up to Indiana?”

Ian looks up from lacing his military boots and fixes Mickey with a look that he has seldom given his boyfriend before: contempt. Mickey flinches slightly and sniffs, folding his arms defensively under Ian’s furious stare

“What?”

“Stop acting like this is bullshit. Your baby sister is in an abusive mess of a relationship with a guy who beats on her whenever it suits him...”

“I didn’t make her fuckin’ go!”

Mickey snaps and Ian slaps his hand hard against the dresser in frustration, making the cheap wood groan and tip precariously onto its side before slamming back down.

“Congratulations, asshole! It’s not your fault! Good for you! Now man the fuck up, get your shit together, and help me bring her home.”

Mickey blinks, squares his shoulders aggressively and the potential for a proper fight hangs in the air between them. The silent tension fills the room, settling in the ceiling cracks and nestling in the folds of clothes left on the floor. Ian doesn’t move, barely even blinks, just waits Mickey out – he’s never been scared of his boyfriend’s temper and he isn’t scared now.

“She needs us, Mickey. We gotta help her.”

After what feels like an age, Mickey nods to himself and just like that, things are in motion.

*

Mickey shrugs out of his grey button down and tugs a passably clean tank over his head, grabbing his cut off jacket from the floor by Ian’s side of the bed where he dumped it last night. It’s been a while since he’s gone after someone like this but the prep is comfortingly familiar and Mickey finds himself warming to it with ease.

He runs his hand fondly over the assortment of weapons in the dresser drawer as Ian types the address Mandy gave him into Google maps on his phone and plots their route.

“Take whatever weapon you want, man.”

Mickey gestures to the drawer, selecting a couple of handguns for himself and pocketing a butterfly knife and brass knuckles.

“Fuck you, Milkovich. Think I wouldn’t bring my own?”

Ian snorts and drops to his knees beside the bed, reaching under and producing a steel baseball bat with a dramatic flourish and giving it a practice swing.

“You know, some guys just bring some clothes and a toothbrush when they move in.”

Mickey grins at him, approval evident in his tone. Ian cocks his head in acknowledgement and loops the bat around the back of his neck, resting his wrists nonchalantly over either end.

“I just packed my biggest, hardest things.”

He drawls, looking Mickey over with a deliberate slowness that has the brunette adjusting himself with zero discretion. A different kind of tension begins to creep between them but Mickey shakes his head.

“Later. You ready?”

Ian nods and shakes himself to get his head back in the game. He has been finding it increasingly difficult to stay focussed lately but this is important, Mandy is important, and with a grunt of effort, he pushes other thoughts aside.

*

In the living room, Iggy and Joey are ripping their first bong of the day but both look up with mild interest at Mickey’s bark of a greeting

“Yo! On a job. You in?”

“What is it?”

“We’re goin’ to get Mandy.”

Iggy frowns and scratches at a spot behind his ear

“Our Mandy?”

“Yeah numbnuts. She’s in trouble. Bringing her home.”

Mickey’s fingers are beating against his leg impatiently. The more often he says the words the more set they become and he wonders how the Hell it has taken him so long to do this. Any of them! Fucking Milkovichs letting their sister be fucked up by some dumb prick of a boyfriend? Shame curls in Mickey’s gut and his nostrils flare at the thought of it.

“You comin’ or what?”

His tone is harsher than he intended but it doesn’t matter because it snaps Iggy and Joey out of their contemplations and both stand up, Iggy heading into the closet.

“She with that Ken … whatever the fuck his name was?”

Joey asks, slipping a stained knuckle duster out of his jacket and slipping it on, large hands flexing.

“Yeah.”

Ian nods. Joey grunts and rolls his neck, grabbing the bong and his bag of pot off the table.

“Disrespectful mother-fucker gonna regret that then ain’t he.”

“You want him dead or just fucked up, bro?”

Iggy’s head pops out of the cluttered space and as both his older brother’s look to him for instruction, the last of the uncertainty leaves Mickey.

When he came out he thought this part of his life with his brother’s was over, family or not, he was gay and he figured that it changed things between them but here they are, waiting on his word like always. Confidence blooms in Mickey’s chest and he lifts his chin, glancing sideways at Ian before clearing his throat and taking the lead.

“Fucked up, but if the asshole dies I ain’t gonna cry about it.”

“Cool.”

Iggy nods and drops the small buzzsaw he had been holding, disappearing briefly and re-emerging with a short wooden club.

As Iggy and Joey amble out to the car, Ian beams at Mickey who gives him a reserved smile back. He doesn’t actually think Ian has ever seen him on this sort of job before and he doesn’t want it freaking him out.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

He asks quietly, reaching up to smooth back a length of deep red hair from Ian’s brow.

“Fuck yes I am! I’ve been waiting a long time to get this prick. I want to do this.”

Ian’s smile twists into a grimace at the thought of Kenyatta and Mickey realises with a start that he has never seen Ian on this sort of job either. Iggy barrels back into the house and dives into the closet

“Best to be prepared.”

He shrugs, hefting the saw over his shoulder and lumbering out again. Mickey and Ian share one last look and then follow Iggy out. They’re ready.

*

Iggy drives, and he drives horribly. They break the speed limit and swerve in and out of traffic, following the little arrow on Ian’s phone screen, all of them cussing at the robotic voice when it kindly tells them they have missed a turn. The music in the car is blaring out, a mix tape of Slipknot and Korn that drowns out almost everything except the sat-nav app.

“Couldn’t they have got a better fuckin’ voice guy?”

Mickey glares over Joey’s shoulder at the screen, as Iggy slams the car into reverse, narrowly missing a cluster of trash cans and the group of teenagers pissing against them.

“Why the fuck are kids peeing in gangs nowadays?”

“Fuck knows. Animals got no respect.”

Joey grumbles, toking on a blunt before handing it back to Ian who takes it with grateful surprise. Whilst Iggy didn’t seem phased by Mickey coming out, Joey has given Ian more than a few unpleasant looks.

“What is it with you and respect at the moment? You keep banging on about it.”

“What do you mean? I’m always respectful.”

“Joe, you’re the least respectful asswipe I know.”

Mickey laughs, lifting his boot heels onto his seat as Joey swings a fist round trying to clip a knee or ankle.

“Fuck you! Name one time when …”

‘In 200 yards, turn right.’

“Fuck sake! Give me street names mother fucker!”

Iggy yells at the phone and Ian grins despite himself. He doesn’t think he has ever heard Iggy lose his shit before, it makes the family resemblance to Mickey much more obvious.

“You tell it, man.”

Mickey grins and Ian decides that he actually likes seeing Mickey around his brothers. He is gruffer, cruder and cockier but it suits him. They’re like a little wolf pack and Mickey is, by some weird cosmic irony, the Alpha.

Despite the high emotions and disastrous driving, they reach their destination in one piece and all four look with disdain at the run down house that their sister is supposedly living in. It looks eerily like the Milkovich house but with a mailbox and a full set of windows and that is a personal affront to each of Mandy’s brother’s for different reasons, souring the mood in the car instantly.

For Joey it feels like Kenyatta is trying to be better than them with his fancy windows and mail box.

For Iggy it is confusing to see a house so like his own in a different state and he hates it impulsively 

For Mickey it enrages him that this is the best Kenyatta could do for Mandy. Bastard couldn’t even give her a half-way decent house.

Ian just despises all of it. Every brick, window, and blade of grass.

The four men get out of the car and after surveying the street for a minute, Mickey leads them across the road and up the steps.

The front door barely withstands the first kick and gives in without protest after the second.

“KENYATTA!”

Mickey bellows, his brother’s fanning out around him. Ian keeps close to Mickey, guarding his back, his bat held high, ready. He can hear someone moving upstairs and apparently he isn’t the only one because all around him guns are being drawn and they are moving forward, Iggy and Joey take the stairs two at a time but Mickey pauses, Ruger in his right hand, his left pressed flat against Ian’s chest, keeping him back.

“Mick, what …?”

Mickey jerks his head irritably and Ian falls silent. There is a heartbeats space of silence and then all Hell breaks loose above them. They can hear Mandy screaming at Iggy, the crash of bodies hitting the floor, scrambling, cursing and then Kenyatta stumbles down the stairs, blood streaming from his nose, clutching his ribs. Mickey drops his gun and lunges upward as Kenyatta swings clumsily at Ian. They sprawl into the living room, crashing against a shitty recliner chair in a tangle of limbs. Ian throws himself into the fray and fists fly.

Every blow that Ian lands is a catharsis. At some point, he shoves Mickey bodily out of the way and straddles Kenyatta’s hips pinning him and raining punches with wild abandon and he doesn’t stop.

Not when his knuckles split.

Not when his own cheekbone is cut with a stray fist.

Not until Mandy reaches him.

“IAN? IAN STOP IT! FUCKING STOP!”

Mandy’s voice cuts through the haze of adrenaline and Ian blinks, smearing blood over his face as he mops at it with his sleeve. Kenyatta begins to sit up but freezes as metal touches his throat.

“Don’t fuckin’ move, asshole.”

Iggy warns, the tip of his saw pressing against flesh just enough to leave an indentation as Ian stands shakily.

Mandy shakes her head in disbelief and then slaps Ian’s face with the flat of her hand

“You promised me, Ian! You fucking promised!”

“Hey! Don’t hit him!”

Mickey snaps at his sister, yanking her away from Ian. Mandy turns her fury on him in an instant, pitching forward and bashing her fists against Mickey’s chest, glaring at him through bruised and bloodshot eyes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Look at the state of your face! You let this piece of shit hit you again?”

Mickey glares right back and kicks Kenyatta dismissively

“Stop it!”

Mandy yells, her hair is matted and she looks half-starved and it is that rather than her words that give Mickey pause. He takes in the state of her clothes and the haunted look in her eyes and shakes his head before kicking Kenyatta in the ribs, harder this time.

“Mickey! Don’t …”

“You’re fuckin’ defending him now? Jesus, Mandy! Come home.”

“Home? HOME? To that house? You call that a home?”

“It’s different now.”

Mandy closes her eyes with an almost hysterical laugh, pressing the heels of her hands painfully against them. Kenyatta makes a noise from the floor and all five Southsider’s look down at him with disgust, silencing him instantly.

“Nothing is ever different, Mickey.”

Mandy’s voice is flat and she shakes her head, wrapping her arms around her middle and stepping back from them all. Mickey glances at Ian and twitches his lip uncertainly, he’s done the part he is good at and now he is out of his depth.

“You okay to deal with this?”

Ian murmurs, gesturing to Kenyatta, his hand briefly caressing the swell of Mickey’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we got it. Go.”

Ian follows Mandy as she makes her way into the kitchen. He has done this sort of thing many times with her brother but though neither of them would admit it, Mickey is actually easier to deal with than Mandy.

“It was my idea Mandy. Not Mickey’s. I got a voicemail from your fight last night and I had to do something.”

“Crash into my home? Assault my boyfriend?”

Mandy sits down at the table and lights a cigarette with shaking hands, before offering Ian the packet.

“It’s not a home, Mandy. You’re not safe here.”

Ian doesn’t dare touch her, but he sits close and when she doesn’t move away, he lays his hand beside hers on the scarred table top.

“I was never safe there either, Ian. You know that.”

Ian nods and swallows heavily. He does know that, they all let Mandy down. Every single one of them.

“It is different now though. We’re there, me and Mickey, and Svetlana and Yev too. It’s a little fucked up but it works. It’s a safe place Mands. We could look after you.”

Dark eyes flash dangerously as Mandy glares up at her friend

“I don’t need you assholes to look after me.”

“Then let us be there while you get what you need to look after yourself.”

Ian counters and Mandy presses her swollen lips together, trembling slightly but not ready to back down.

“You can’t stay here. Not really. Not with him. He’ll kill you.”

Ian presses on despite the look on her face. Like her brother, she responds better to frankness, almost harshness in a way, a gentle approach means nothing to Mandy, she needs to cold steel of a bat to swing, not the soft comfort of a pillow to clutch. He can see that his words are sinking in and being accepted as slowly the fire in her eyes dims to a shimmer.

“What are you gonna do with him?”

“Whatever you want us to. Please Mandy. Please come home.”

Mandy nods, licks her lips, and gently places her hand over Ian’s long fingers. He picks up her hand and cradles it in his own.

*

Mandy doesn’t have much to pack and whist Ian gathers sparse possessions from the bathroom, Mickey helps her stuff her clothes into a couple of bin liners.

“This all of it?”

“Yeah.”

Mandy nods, clutching the larger of the two bags to her chest.

“Alright, give it here.”

Mickey reaches for it, gesturing impatiently

“You don’t have to…”

“Let me carry the damn bag for you for fucks sake.”

He snatches it roughly out of his sister’s hand, begins walking to the door and then stops, dropping both bags at his feet and whirling to face her, irritation and guilt warring for control of his features.

“You should have fucking called me, Mandy.”

She isn’t prepared for the hug but as her big brother’s arms fold around her, she feels her body begin to slacken in quiet relief.

“You’re here now, Mick.”

“Yeah well … just as well too! You’re skinny as fuck.”

Mickey breathes into her hair, his fingers cupping the back of her head as gently as if she were made of brittle glass.

“You’re getting fat.”

Mandy shoots back and then tightens her grip around his middle, her fingers gripping the back of his shirt for dear life.

“Douche.”

Mickey sniffs wetly and squeezes her gently

“It’s gonna be alright, you hear me? You’re gonna be okay. We got you.”

It is probably the most comforting thing any of her family have ever said to her and if Mandy Milkovich was a crier, she would have wept all the tears her body could shed. But Mandy does not cry. She pulls back, sniffs and kisses Mickey’s cheek.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“And get you some food!”

Mickey nods in agreement and grabs her bags, leading the way downstairs.

*

Kenyatta is propped up against the wall and watches Mandy leave with flat eyes, but she doesn’t look at him. Not once.

Mickey crouches in front of the huge man and slaps his cheek lightly, almost tenderly

“My brothers are gonna stay a while, have a chat, straighten some things out with you, man. You better hope that they are the last Milkovichs you ever fuckin’ see because if not, if you try and come near Mandy again, we’re gonna have to kill you. You know that, right?”

Kenyatta nods and Mickey gives him a bright smile, beautiful and menacing in equal measure.

“Good.”

With that, Mickey dusts off his hands on his thighs, stands and walks away. Ian knows he should follow. Their work here is done, but can barely drag his eyes from the man at Joey’s feet. He knows he’ll be punished for Mandy’s treatment at his hand, Joey is more than capable but a part of Ian wishes he was the one to do it, to wreak a little havoc on the man who catapulted Mandy’s so brutally.

“Ian? Let’s go.”

Mickey calls from the porch steps. Ian tears his eyes away from Mandy’s now-ex boyfriend and begins to leave, pausing to grab his bat. The steel is cool and welcome in his heated palm and he twirls it absentmindedly, looking around the room.

He wanders over to the windows and peers out from between the dirty curtains. How many times did Mandy do this? Peer out at the world, scared either of what was coming or scared of what was already waiting upstairs. On the porch, Mickey catches sight of Ian’s movements and walks across to stand in front of him on the other side.

“What the fuck are you doing? Let’s go.”

Ian nods but doesn’t move. His fingertips press against the smeared panes and he slowly traces Mandy’s name into the grime. On the other side, Mickey cups his hands against the glass and peers past Ian into the house making sure they haven’t forgotten anything of Mandy’s or anything that Mandy might just want, hers or not.

Ian makes a decision and his lip lifts upwards in a small smile

“Take your fuckin’ hands off the glass, Mick.”

“Huh?”

“Move!”

Ian hefts the bat and Mickey reads his intention, leaping back just in time as one after the other, Ian puts the windows out. He smashes the bat through each of them with a malicious relish that he hasn’t felt in years and beams at Mickey through the gaping holes.

“You done now, Al Capone?”

“Yep.”

Ian nods, answering the arched eyebrows and amused smirk on his boyfriends face with a happy smile.

*

They leave Iggy and Joey to their business, Mickey drives and Ian sits in the back with Mandy, not wanting to leave her alone. His fingers untangle some of the knots in the tips of her long hair and she lets him do it, relaxing into the touch little by little.

“How’s Yevgeny?”

“Fat.”

“Mickey!”

Ian chides, laughing despite himself. Mickey half turns to glance back at his sister and shrugs

“It’s true. Little bastard eats, shits, and sleeps as much as Iggy.”

“He looks just like Mickey though. His eyes have gone the exact shade of blue and he’s getting a proper smirk.”

Ian smiles proudly at this and Mandy allows a small smile to lighten her own face.

“Poor kid!”

“Fuck you!”

Mickey gives an exemplary smirk around the filter of his cigarette as he pulls into a McDonalds drive thru. He orders too much food and pays with a few crumpled bills, smiling politely when the cashiers gaze lingers on his bruised and bloody knuckles.

The only free space is a disabled bay, which Mickey parks in without a second thought, heedless of the signs, and hands the brown bags into the back seat. Mandy eats with as much enthusiasm as her brother and Ian can’t help but laugh at them both, though he covers it as choking on a fry. Once she has eaten her fill, Mandy wipes her hands and face on a napkin and slumps back against Ian’s shoulder, sighing in drowsy contentment. Her breathing grows heavy as they leave the parking lot and Ian wraps a protective arm around her shoulder, keeping her close as she sleeps.

“She okay?”

Ian looks up and meets Mickey’s worried eyes in the rearview mirror.

“She will be. You did good, Mickey.”

Mickey’s cheeks turn a dusky pink at the praise and he snorts, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Didn’t do bad yourself, Gallagher.”

“We make a good team.”

Ian smiles and Mickey grins at him happily, blue eyes holding green firmly.

“Yeah we do.”

*

Months later …

*

Ian is making his way back to the Gallagher house, his hand is throbbing beneath the hastily wrapped up bandages and he is grateful for this because it lets him know that he is still alive. He can barely see, barely hear, everything is white noise and great swathes of colourless normality stretching out into the infinity of his gaze.

“Ian?”

He turns slowly and sees Mandy walking towards him, head bowed against the cold evening breeze.

“You okay?”

“Yeah I gotta …”

He trails off, lifting his injured hand in illustration of the point he can’t quite seem to make.

“Shit! That needs changing.”

“I can do it. Or Fiona. I don’t care.”

Ian sighs tiredly and Mandy links her arm through his, making the decision for both of them.

“I’ll do it. Come on.”

Inside the Gallagher house, Ian sits down whilst Mandy finds the first aid kit. Sammi hovers around them until Mandy asks for a cup of coffee, giving the needy blonde a simple task to complete somewhere else.

“Kinda matches my left hand now, huh?”

Ian says quietly, the joke feeble as he shows Mandy the older scar

“Oh yeah? How did you do that one?”

Mandy replies, rolling the clean fabric over Ian’s blistered palm. Ian draws a shuddering breath and then sighs

“Military. I hot-wired a helicopter, other stupid shit too and burnt myself. Then I ran away, went AWOL …”

“Did Ian say something? Does he want a coffee too?”

Sammi’s head pokes around the kitchen door and Mandy throws a weary look over her shoulder at the older woman.

“No Sammi, thanks.”

“Okay but I like to be included in conversation in my own house you know!”

Sammi sing-songs as she retreats back into the kitchen, bitchy but blessedly oblivious. Mandy shakes her head and presses a finger gently to Ian’s lips when he draws a breath to continue his confession.

“Not now, okay? Gotta be careful who you tell about this stuff.”

Mandy tucks the end of the bandage in and covers Ian’s hand gently with both of her own, cradling it.

“Thanks.”

Ian says looking Mandy in the eye for the first time.

“You’re welcome.”

She kisses his head lightly and stands up

“Let’s get out of here. No offence but your sister is weird and Mickey will be home soon.”

Ian smiles slightly and nods, leaving Sammi behind and following Mandy home.


End file.
